Where it Ends
by Levus
Summary: After killing Graves as an Obscurus, Credence must go on the run from MACUSA. Luckily, there are a few companions willing to lend a hand - and a suitcase.
1. Chapter 1

True evil festers in those possessed of _absolute_ _belief_.

Mary Lou Barebone has absolute belief.

It drives her out of the cold church every morning and casts her into the filthy street, where the stench of human excrement will be thick enough to paint her clothes. It demands that she stride on cobblestone streets until blisters swell, pop, and chafe in her shoes.

"Witches live among us!"

Desperate, passionate, these are the wails of a soul who despairs to see her fellow humans walking the streets like sheep beneath the command of wolves. "Witches live among us! Please, you sir – I mean only to _save_ you from their wickedness, to expose their sinfulness for all to see-"

Foul lies pervade their city, plotted and executed by witches who keep watch on all corners, who are always there, operating in quiet and in the background. Would no one listen?

Mary Lou's manic eyes rove the street, desperately seeking a soul to save.

 _Me._

The thought roars in his head, screams for release.

 _She found me._

Me.

Me.

Me.

If only his family lived just one street over. But they didn't.

Every morning, as Mary Lou polished her street-side preaching, Jessamine Quinn took her prodigious four year old's pudgy hand in hers and walked with him along the street, inciting his imagination by describing all the fun things he could learn once she returned from MACUSA that evening.

Most children liked card or board games: he, however, had an insatiable curiosity and passion for magic, matched only by his undeniable aptitude for it.

"Patronus, patronus!" he crowed once, and she giggled.

"Patronus? Now, where'd you hear about that?"

"Michaela told me aaall about them! Like silvery little animals, I wanna know what mine is!"

Jessamine smiled fondly. "That spell may be beyond even you, sweetie."

Mary Lou watched.

She heard.

She heard a lot.

If only they had lived one street over.

But.

They.

Didn't.

 _'L-lemme go! You're not my ma! Where's my ma? Where's –'_

 _Crack!_

Screaming. Screaming. The cold concrete floor bruising his knees, dust billowing up and pinching his eyes, snot dangling from the edge of his nose. His shirt all bunched up at the nape of his neck while he feels blood drip down his sides. Screaming, until he doesn't any more.

"There now," Mary Lou soothes. "You are saved from your abhorrent ways. I have saved you."

How saintly she is, belt in hand, with a cowering boy of five at her feet. Oh, she is God's chosen daughter, suffering here on earth to deliver salvation to the poor, the weak, the orphaned. She will do as He asks. "I have saved you." Her voice trembles in powerful emotion, tears of the righteous in her eyes.

She is a perfect agent of God.

"Witches live among us."

Witches.

Blasphemy.

Evil.

Punishments.

Hell.

Suddenly, these things are everything.

 _Our Father who art in Heaven,_

"You wicked, wicked boy! Belt, now!"

 _Hallowed be Your name._

"Credence… it would be easier if you would only obey her. Listen to me, Credence. Say your prayers, be a good boy. Accept the truth."

 _Your kingdom come_

"I hate you. You aren't my ma!"

 _Your will be done,_

"Belt, Credence."

 _On earth as it is in Heaven._

"It hurts me to do this, Credence. I want you to be happy with the truth of God. Why must you do this to yourself?"

 _Give us this day our daily bread,_

"No dinner! You can come out when you're ready to listen!"

 _And forgive us our trespasses,_

"Show Modesty how to pray, now. On your knees. Ask for his forgiveness."

 _As we forgive those that trespass against us_

"Witch number one, drown in a river!"

 _And lead us not into temptation_

"I think you're a very special young man or I wouldn't have asked you to help me, now would I?"

 _But deliver us from evil._

"I want those things, too, Credence. I want them for you. So find the child. Find the child and we'll all be free."

We'll.

All.

Be.

Free.

There is no hatred on the earth to match his. It leaks from every single cut, every bruise, every lash on his marred flesh and even all that isn't enough.

"I owe you an apology," Graves says.

That is all. An _apology_.

"I trusted you. I thought you were my friend. That you were different."

Not one word reaches Graves. Not one word.

Because Graves is in _awe_. The wicked mind behind those eyes is devouring Credence. Tearing him up and seeing where the parts fit in his grand plan.

Credence can't begin to contain the fury wracking his body.

Graves does not even care what he's done. He can't be bothered one whit by it. How _trivial_ Credence's feelings are. They matter to no one. No. One.

"You can control it, Credence," Graves says and halleluiah, praise the Lord, because Credence can control it and that means he can be _used_.

No. No more.

Credence meets Graves' eyes.

"But I don't think I want to, Mr. Graves."

Dust specks hang, captured in one moment of time. All is still.

This

Is

Where

It

Ends.

His soul rips from his body.


	2. Chapter 2

The ceiling is gone. So are the apartments around them: shredded up and scattered as rubble in the streets.

Only this one is intact, for the most part.

It's all quiet now. Snow drifts down and speckles Credence's back.

He can't stop twitching, like there's electric wires jammed in his muscles, going _zap, zap, zap._ Mary Lou talked about that once. Doing that to him. Then he'd listen to God, oh yes he would.

 _Zap_.

His bruised knuckles bump clumsily against Mr. Graves cheek. The man is ugly in death - ashen and slack, with marks littered all over his face.

 _Zap._

Credence gets it right this time, caressing beaten digits over Mr. Graves' lips, parted in a final, shocked _oh_.

 _Zap._

Chattering teeth, tongue and lips blubber out nonsensical words. "blease, 'msorry. H-help me. Yuh-you buh-bromis'd.'"

Through blurry vision, Credence sees tears spatter Mr. Graves' lifeless cheeks and vacant eyes.

His teeth grind together hard enough to splinter bone. "Help me! Help me!" _The way you were supposed to._

Poisonous tendrils raise angry welts on his dead flesh, but that's just the thing about death. You don't feel anything. He's gone where Credence can't hurt him anymore.

"Help me," he whispers.

Something whimpers. He gazes up, and a blurry outline comes woozily into focus.

Modesty.

She's crammed in the corner and cowering. From him. From _him_.

"I-I didn't muh-mean," Credence falters, "He – he buh-betrayed-"

Then she screams; and many people shout at once.

"I found the Obscurus!"

"Madam President, he's at the corner of –"

 _"Petrificus Totalus!_ "

The spell strikes the floor – Credence dives off Graves in the nick of time and swirls up into the air, a massive black sphere haloed by the gently falling snow.

How tiny are the forms stuck on the gritty apartment floor. For a heartbeat, he feels like a god.

"We aren't here to hurt you," one of them shouts up. "Come on down now, we just want to talk, that's all."

Another checks Mr. Graves' pulse.

There's four wands pointed at him. Another appears out of nowhere. Five. Six.

Witches. The police, maybe – Graves had said there were people that hunted down dark creatures and dark witches. _I didn't expect them to look so ordinary._

Then, subtler, _I must be a dark creature._

Credence doesn't wait for the first spell to fire.

The floorboards explode beneath the witches. Fat splinters lunge into soft pliant flesh until they look like big porcupines - what a mess of noise they're making. Credence always tried to be quiet.

 _"Credence! What in God's name have you done to your hands!"_

 _"N-nuh-nothing, ma." It wasn't exactly nothing. He'd dug out her sewing supplies, and one by one sank the needles underneath his fingernails. She wasn't supposed to be back for hours, and he was gonna clean them off and put them right back._

 _She got home early._

A sound like thunder rattles the surviving windows– Credence belatedly realizes the sound has come from himself, but by then he is crashing through buildings and ripping up the streets.

The witches follow him, somehow de-splintered _._ Spells streak across the sky like luminescent fish darting in black waters, but Credence dives and spirals, always just a touch out of reach from their curses.

 _I need to get somewhere safe._

No sooner had he thought this than another thought conquered it – _nowhere is safe._

The absolute truth of this cripples him. _Nothing is safe._

No one. Nowhere. Nothing. The hopelessness slows him; only Graves had offered an escape, and now even that has been torn from him.

At last, a spell strikes him. After that, it's like a swarm of wasps – once the first stings, so too do all the others – and a rapid barrage of spells pierce his convulsing form. Black wisps are obliterated, eaten up by the white light.

Suddenly, he's plummeting from the sky, the darkness coagulating into flesh and bone. Buildings and windows rush past him as his form materializes, the darkness retreating.

He crashes hard into the street, rolls several times over and his temple cracks on the cobblestone.

He slumps, dazed.

Human again.

He's crying, the cobblestones are gritty and cool beneath his cheek. A stream of blood dribbles from the corner of his lips.

Voices rise around him, "Contain him!"

"Set up barriers, now, now!"

 _This is where I die,_ he thinks with sudden, absolute clarity.

Vision swims as he gazes up. They've gathered around him like a ring of pillars, bodies dark and looming. Wands raised. It'll happen here, out in the street, like an animal.

A soft, helpless whimper.

And…

Relief.

That's just the thing about death. You go where no one can hurt you anymore.

His eyes begin to close.

"Credence!"

Who…?

"That's your name, isn't it? Credence? Listen, I can help you!"

A man stumbles through the pillar ranks, close – closer than the other witches dare to get, even with their wands. He's not holding a wand – his empty hands are raised above his head as if in surrender or supplication. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Was he insane? Did he not see what was happening here, the execution of an animal, neither witch nor human? Did he not see their wands lifted, the spells at the tip of their tongues? He was getting between Credence and the witches! They would kill him!

The man seems wholly ignorant of this. Palms splayed open, eyes entreating, he has one singular purpose.

 _And it's me._

 _Why?_

As if in slow motion, Credence sees the witches' attention shift. Lips part, cries spill forth, wands change targets.

 _They want him, too? What did he do?_

"Grab hold!" With outstretched hand, the man beckons frantically. "I can help you, Credence, but you must take my hand - please, now!"

 _"Come with me. Think of what we could achieve together,"_ Graves had said.

 _No, no, no, NO!_

Lights silhouette the stranger as the witches cast their curses; in the supernatural flash, Credence sees scars.

 _Scars._

The man has scars on his hands.

Somehow, this is all it takes.

Credence lunges, their hands clasp, and the world rips away.

Misspent spells carve grooves into the street.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm immensely grateful for everyone's support. Thank you for reading... I hope to have more consistent updates in the future.

* * *

 _He didn't save me in time._

Colossal hands crush Credence's ribcage and wrench his arms at his sides, like they're trying to squash his body into some tiny tube. The world whirls around him in nonsensical flashes, and his ears pound with the sound of blood and wind.

 _This is how witches kill monsters?_

His feet slam into something hard, the world rights itself, and his body feels normal again.

The strange man releases his hand – _so wait, he did save me._

Then Credence bends double and hurls out the contents of his stomach.

"Ah," comes an accented voice near his ear, "right, nothing to worry about. That's apparating, Credence. Minor side-effects if you're not accustomed to it. The nausea should clear up in a minute or two."

Apparating. _Magic._

Another voice breaks in, familiar, "Newt! Did you get the Ob– is, is that – _Credence_?"

Credence swings his head up.

 _Squires_ blazes in huge hot pink letters above him, casting a flowery halo about a woman whose kind nature could not be disguised behind her rigid yet disarrayed haircut and her stern yet unbuttoned grey coat.

"Tina…?" he plucks the name from a deep river, and for the life of him can't recall how he'd captured it – had they met? When? How?

She moves from the pink halo into darkness and her arms wrap about his shoulders.

Oh.

 _Holding him._ Clutching him tight and oh, the way she had screamed at Mary Lou. Just tore her down to size, it had been… _satisfying._ The disorienting sense of seeing her outrage, like what Mary Lou did to him wasn't right after all, like it _should_ make him angry and that maybe he didn't deserve it.

Mary Lou beat him senseless after she was gone. Maybe that's why the memory wasn't there right away; maybe she had struck his head.

"I thought you were trying to get the Obscurus," Tina hisses, "what are you doing with Credence?"

"Is that the Second Salem boy?" another voice floats in airily.

Belatedly, Credence realizes he's leaned into Tina's embrace and closed his eyes. But there are others here, and they could be dangerous. Maybe magic? Credence's gaze rove from one individual to the next. All of them… magic? No. Not the large man. But the others.

 _How did I know that?_

"Yes," Tina strains to say. "Newt, what are you doing with the Second Salemers? Don't you remember the whole _keep away from them_ thing?"

"Oh…" That fairy-like voice belongs to a woman with shockingly blue eyes, and she speaks like an Oracle imparting great wisdom, "Teenie, he's the Obscurial."

Tina chokes. "What?"

The man with scarred hands breaks in frantically, "I couldn't let them kill him. Tina, they were going to execute him, I couldn't let them."

"But, Credence? He's – he's a squib!"

"I thought the same thing. I was wrong, very wrong."

"Hold on, yous said those Obscurius-Obsurial things were _kids_. What was that about not living past ten?"

Past _ten?_ Ten years?

"He's a very rare case. We need to get out of here – they'll be after us in minutes if we stay."

"Oh, but he's so rattled…" the blue-eyed witch nears, her stare rapt yet sympathetic. "It's so much, isn't it? All these people you don't know, and the magic… Don't you worry, Credence. Once we get away from all these government people, you can have a good long nap. Doesn't that sound nice? You can trust Mr. Scamander here – the man has got a heart of gold."

"I got uh, I got a cousin, just outta the city," the large man interjects. "If we need a place to stay…?"

"That'd be just perfect!"

"No! If he's another No-Maj – we can't keep breaking laws."

The blue-eyed woman assumed a playful smile. "But Teenie, we're already on the run!"

"Tina's right," Mr. Scamander cut in. "We can't very well go around obliviating everyone."

"Hey, there's nothin' to worry about – my cousin Albert, he's out of town for a week on vacation! The place is empty."

"Then cousin's place it is," Mr. Scamander nods. "Right, is apparation good for everyone?"

Half the words they speak are incomprehensible, all this about apparation and obliviating and No-Maj, but whatever Mr. Scamander has decided seems agreeable to them all. They gather together, hand on shoulders, or hand in hand, and Tina still is clutching him tight – then, after an address is given, the world blinks out.

The whirlwind spits him and the others out on a suburban lane flanked by trimmed bushes.

"It'll get easier, honey," the blue-eyed witch loops her arm with his and offers a generous smile as they all begin walking briskly down the lane. "Things are going to get much better for you, I promise. We _are_ all witches, but not at all the bad kind. Well, Newt, we'd call him a wizard. And you, too!"

While Credence's throat struggles to form words, she continues, "only the fun sort of criminal! It's mostly all misunderstandings – Newt and Teenie here were framed for something they didn't do; Jacob got dragged into it, and I helped everyone get out of trouble! Now we're going to get you out of –"

She cuts off; her piercing blue eyes bulge like a mouse squeezed too tight. "Mr. Graves…" she breathes.

Credence stiffens, gaze swinging around the moonlight lane – but of course he isn't here. And there's no reason to say his name unless -

She can read minds.

His throat spasms; finally words spill forth, "I-I didn't mean, he – it was an accident."

"Of course, dear." Her indulgent smile returns. This time it doesn't quite meet her eyes. There's something pensive and brooding that lingers.

Heat flares in his chest. Mr. Graves would do that. Smile and cradle him but there was always that _something other_ in his eyes. Dishonesty. Smile and lie.

Credence's eyes dart to the street, and his shoulders curl inwards. He thinks firmly, _don't you dare try to control me._ And he summons the sensation of immense power that washes over him when he transforms. _This is what I can do._

Her step falters. Yet, she doesn't pull away. Finally, soft as a whisper she says to him alone, "None of us here are like that Mr. Graves, Credence. We won't hurt you."

"Can I learn to read minds?" Credence asks.

Before she can answer, the party halts in front of a white one-story hugged by bright green evergreen bushes.

Mr. Scamander's voice drifts over, "-nning factory. We can't risk it just yet."

The larger man replies cheerily, "I'll stay with you guys as long as you'll let me. Ah, this is the place! Ol' Albert's place. Bought it with his wife four years back."

Mr. Scamander nods. "Well, then. Shall we set up protective charms?"


End file.
